I found myself wanting a very strong drink and didn't take it because getting drunk right then would have been a stupid idea, and because I hate being trite. It can lead to being quaint. Instead, I made circles on the table with my finger in the moisture from my glass. I found I'd been doing that a lot lately, and wondered about it. But not very much.
Some hours later, one of the barmaids tapped my shoulder and indicated the host, who was trying to get my attention. I made my way over to him, and he handed me a note. I nodded and returned to my table to read it. I had to shift my chair to a place where my shadow wasn't blocking the light from the nearest lamp; then I broke the seal and unfolded the thick parchment. G6od paper, I noticed; they probably made it locally.
"My Lord Merss," it read, "His Lord wishes above all to present His Condolences upon your recent loss, and to assure you that all steps are being taken to bring the perpetrators to justice. Unfortunately, His Lordship's health does not permit visitors at this time, but he hopes you will know that you are in his thoughts in the kindest way. I remain, my Lord, Your Servant, Tahchay Loiosh, Scribe."
"Hey, he has the same name as me," said Loiosh.
"He probably doesn't fly as well," I said.
I folded the note carefully in half, and put it into an inside pocket of my cloak while I thought about it. It wasn't as if I were surprised; I hadn't expected him to jump at the chance to see me. I'd had a plan for what to do in this case, back a long time ago— last night—when I'd worked it all out. Only since then everything had come loose, and was now flapping in the breeze.
"Well, Boss? Going to visit him anyway?"
"You know damned well I am."
"Yeah. Boss, are you trying to get killed?"
"Is that a rhetorical question?"
"Okay" I gave it some thought. "No, I don't think so."
"All right. Good."
People kept coming into the place, all of them wet and dripping. I didn't feel like going out, and they didn't feel like giving me any more than the occasional hostile glance. I'd somehow built Fenario up in my head into this perfect land, full of happy, smiling people who would greet me like a long-lost brother. It was downright disheartening. I was tempted to just start breaking random arms and legs.
And still no sign of Orbahn. I was beginning to think he was avoiding me. Was that suspicious? Well, sure. What, by Barlan's Sacred Slime Trail, wasn't suspicious at this point? Anything anyone did or didn't do, said or didn't say, might mean he was looking to put a knife in me.
Of course, to some degree, I'd lived with that most of my life. The difference was, I used to know the game and the rules. Yeah, fine, but, okay, Vlad, who broke the rules?
Cawti. She's the one who got herself involved in things we had no business getting involved in.
Well, yeah, but I was the one who had to piss off the whole Jhereg. What was I thinking, anyway? Heroic rescue my ass. Maybe I was just trying to come up with a good excuse to jump off the ship because I didn't want the humiliation of running it into the rocks.
Okay, Vlad. Settle down. This is getting you nowhere. Take a deep breath, another slug of wine, and try to bloody concentrate. You have a problem. It isn't the first problem you've ever had. Unless you get stupid, it won't be the last. So look at it, analyze it, treat it like the others.
Crap.
When you reach the point of needing to tell yourself how to think, you've already gone beyond the point where you're willing to listen. Or maybe that's just me.
I tried to remember why I'd decided not to get drunk, and I couldn't, so I called over the barmaid and asked for decent brandy. She returned with a bottle of Veeragkasher, which qualifies, I think. After the third glass I didn't care, in any case.
Loiosh tells me I got myself to bed all right. He also tells me I didn't even make it halfway through the bottle. How humiliating.
Sometimes we're treated better than we deserve. I not only woke up feeling fine the next morning, I also woke up. I went down the hall to the cistern, got some hot water, and spent some time getting clean and pretty. Then I walked over to my window and, standing to the side, looked out at the street. It was gray and wet outside, but no longer raining. I continued watching for a couple of minutes, and then the Furnace appeared, making the wet streets glisten. I could have decided it was an omen, the Furnace coming out like that to brighten things, only it was doing the same thing for my enemies.
Well, no doubt it promised good fortune to someone, about something. Omens always prove true if you just allow them enough room to work.
I spent a few more minutes watching the bizarre spectacle of steam rising from the streets, then went downstairs to the jug room and got some coffee. With enough honey and heavy cream, it was drinkable, but I made a vow that someday I would return here, buy this man a klava press, and teach him how to use it. Or else maybe kill him.
All right, I knew what I was going to do, and I'd already worked out how to do it—I kept that much of my original plan intact. I returned to my room and dressed as well as I could with what I had with me; I've looked better, leave it at that. I took out the Imperial Seal Her Majesty had given me for being an idiot in a good cause—sorry, long story— and folded it up in a square of red silk, which I then sealed with wax and a ring that went with yet another seal, that one in the possession of my grandfather. I put the sealed package, about the size of my palm, in my cloak and went back downstairs to continue waking up.
Eventually the coffee did its work, and my brain started performing in a semblance of its usual manner. I asked the host where the Count's manor was, and was given a scowl, a suspicious look, and directions that were a good ten miles from town. Which meant I could either spend all day walking there and then back, or...
I sighed and asked if there was anyone who rented horses. Yes, in fact, he did; there were stables in the back, and a stable-boy who would help me pick one out if I showed him a chit. How much? Okay.
"Quit laughing, Loiosh."
"Boss, sometimes you just ask the impossible.”
The muscle aches had completely vanished, so I might as well get new ones. I went back to the table and took my time finishing my coffee, then walked out the back door to the stables, I suppose much the way a man might walk to the Executioner's Star.
This "stable-boy" was somewhat older than I was, balding, tall, and had piercing black eyes as well as enough girth to make me feel sorry for the horses. When he began to take the equipment down I got a look at his right biceps. Maybe part of his job was picking up the horses, I don't know.
He didn't say a lot as he worked, just grunted when I explained I wanted a horse that would let me stay on top of him, and wouldn't do anything to embarrass me. He picked out a rather fat-looking horse that is I think the color horse people call "sorrel" though it looked brown to me. If it's brown, why can't they call it brown?
He led it up to me, helped guide my foot into the stirrup, and held it while I mounted; then he went around and got my other foot placed.
"Her name is Marsi," he said.
"All right."